ine  ftreaton  JJeabotop 

(MRS.  LIONEL  MARKS) 


HARVEST    MOON. 

THE  WOLF  OF  GUBBIO:  A  Comedy  in 
Three  Acts. 

THE  SINGING   MAN. 

THE  PIPER. 

THE  BOOK  OF  THE  LITTLE  PAST.  Illus 
trated  in  color. 

THE  SINGING   LEAVES. 

MARLOWE:  A  DRAMA. 

FORTUNE  AND   MEN'S   EYES. 

OLD  GREEK  FOLK  STORIES. 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


HARVEST  MOON 


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Harvest    i 
Moon 


By  JOSEPHINE  PRESTON  PEABODY 


BOSTON  &  NEW  YORK 
HoUGHTON    MlFFLIN    COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,   1916,   BY  JOSEPHINE   PEABODY   MARKS 
ALL   RIGHTS    RESERVED 

Published  November  iib 


NOTE 

The  author  is  indebted  to  the  editors  of 
Scribners  Magazine,  The  Book  of  "The  Sans- Foyer,' 
The  Texas  Review,  The  Poetry  Review,  The 
Woman  s  Journal,  The  Boston  Evening  Tran 
script,  and  The  New  York  Evening  Post,  for 
permission  to  reprint  certain  of  the  poems  in 
cluded  in  this  book. 


357993 


CONTENTS 

Who  goes  there? xiii 

HARVEST  MOON I 

CRADLE  SONG 3 

PIETA .  •       7 

DOMINION  .       .       .       .  •       •       •       .12 

FULL  CIRCLE •       •       •     J3 

MILITARY  NECESSITY     .       .       .       .       .       .16 

DEAD  CHIMES  .       .-'  • .17 

MEN  HAVE  WINGS  AT  LAST      .       .       .       .21 
To  A  DOG        .       .       .       .       .       .       •       •     27 

HERITAGE .     29 

Two  SONGS  OF  A  YEAR 31 

I.  CHILDREN'S  KISSES        .       .       ^  .       -33 

II.   THE  SANS-FOYER.       .       ^    \.       .       •     36 

SEA-DIRGE         .       .       .       .       .       .       .       -37 

SEED-TIME         .       .       .       ...       .       .38 

JUNE  ROSE 39 

ALL  SOULS'  EVE  .       .       .       .       .       .4° 


viii  CONTENTS 

THREE  PARTING  SONGS 43 

I.  STAR-GAZER 45 

II.  THE  GLORIES  TO  THE  DYING     ...  46 

III.  THE  MOMENT 48 

THE  NEIGHBORS 51 

WOMAN-VIGIL  .       .       .       .       .       .       .       •  57 

HUNTER'S  MOON .69 

I.  BALLAD  OF  THE  BOW-STRING      .  •  -    .       .  71 

II.  THE  HUNTED        .       .       .       .       .   '  ,.  77 

III.  OUTCAST.       . 79 

SEA-THIRST       .       .       .       .       .       .       .  *     .  8 1 

HARVEST  MOON:  1916.       .       .       .       .       .84 

OFFERING  .  86 


HARVEST  MOON 


TO 
THE  WOMEN  OF  EUROPE 


Halt !  —  Who  goes  there  ? 
A  Woman. 

Whence  ?  And  where  ? 

Soldier,  I  cannot  tell.    I  only  know 
This  dark  is  still  the  world. 

And  I  must  dare. 
Who  bade  you  try  ? 
My  man-child  here,  his  cry. 

/  cannot  let  you  by  ; 

Woman>  I  stand  on  guard. 

And  I. 


HARVEST   MOON 

OVER  the  twilight  field, 
Over  the  glimmering  field 
And  bleeding  furrows,  with  their  sodden 

yield 

Of  sheaves  that  still  did  writhe, 
After  the  scythe ; 

The  teeming  field,  and  darkly  overstrewn 
With  all  the  garnered  fullness  of  that  noon, — 
Two  looked  upon  each  other. 
One  was  a  Woman,  men  had  called  their  mother: 
And  one  the  Harvest  Moon. 

And  one  the  Harvest  Moon 

Who  stood,  who  gazed 

On  those  unquiet  gleanings,  where  they  bled ; 

Till  the  lone  Woman  said  : 

c  But  we  were  crazed  .  .  . 

We  should  laugh  now  together,  I  and  you ; 

We  two. 

You,  for  your  ever  dreaming  it  was  worth 

A  star's  while  to  look  on,  and  light  the  earth; 

And  I,  for  ever  telling  to  my  mind 


2  HARVEST    MOON 

Glory  it  was  and  gladness,  to  give  birth 

To  human  kind. 

I  gave  the  breath, —  and  thought  it  not  amiss, 

I  gave  the  breath  to  men, 

For  men  to  slay  again ; 

Lording  it  over  anguish,  all  to  give 

My  life,  that  men  might  live, 

For  this. 

'You  will  be  laughing  now,  remembering 
We  called  you  once  Dead  World,  and  barren 

thing. 

Yes,  so  we  called  you  then, 
You,  far  more  wise 
Than  to  give  life  to  men.' 

Over  the  field  that  there 

Gave  back  the  skies 

A  scattered  upward  stare 

From  sightless  eyes, 

The  furrowed  field  that  lay 

Striving  awhile,  through  many  a  bleeding  dune 

Of  throbbing  clay, —  but  dumb  and  quiet  soon, 

She  looked ;  and  went  her  way, 

The  Harvest  Moon. 


L 


CRADLE  SONG 


ORD  GABRIEL,  wilt  thou  not  rejoice 
When  at  last  a  little  boy's 
Cheek  lies  heavy  as  a  rose, 
And  his  eyelids  close  ? 


Gabriel,  when  that  hush  may  be, 
This  sweet  hand  all  heedfully 
I  '11  undo,  for  thee  alone, 
From  his  mother's  own. 

Then  the  far  blue  highways  paven 
With  the  burning  stars  of  heaven, 
He  shall  gladden  with  the  sweet 
Hasting  of  his  feet:  — 

Feet  so  brightly  bare  and  cool, 
Leaping,  as  from  pool  to  pool ; 
From  a  little  laughing  boy 
Splashing  rainbow  joy  ! 

Gabriel,  wilt  thou  understand 
How  to  keep  his  hovering  hand?- 
Never  shut,  as  in  a  bond, 
From  the  bright  beyond?*— 


HARVEST    MOON 

Nay,  but  though  it  cling  and  close 
Tightly  as  a  climbing  rose, 
Clasp  it  only  so,  —  aright, 
Lest  his  heart  take  fright. 

(Dormi,  dormi,  tu. 

The  dusk  is  hung  with  blue.) 

II 

Lord  Michael,  wilt  not  thou  rejoice 
When  at  last  a  little  boy's 

Heart,  a  shut-in  murmuring  bee, 
Turns  him  unto  thee  ? 

Wilt  thou  heed  thine  armor  well, — 
To  take  his  hand  from  Gabriel, 
So  his  radiant  cup  of  dream 
May  not  spill  a  gleam  ? 

He  will  take  thy  heart  in  thrall, 
Telling  o'er  thy  breastplate,  all 
Colors,  in  his  bubbling  speech, 
With  his  hand  to  each. 

(Dormi,  dormi  tu. 
Sapphire  is  the  blue  ; 


CRADLE    SONG 

Pearl  and  beryl,  they  are  called, 
Cbrysoprase  and  emerald, 
Sard  and  amethyst. 

Numbered  so,  and  kissed.) 

Ah,  but  find  some  angel-word 
For  thy  sharp,  subduing  sword ! 

Yea,  Lord  Michael,  make  no  doubt 
He  will  find  it  out: 

(Dor  mi,  dor  mi  tu  !) 
His  eyes  will  look  at  yoti. 

Ill 

Last,  a  little  morning  space, 
Lead  him  to  that  leafy  place 
Where  Our  Lady  sits  awake. 
For  all  mothers'  sake. 

Bosomed  with  the  Blessed  One, 
He  shall  mind  her  of  her  Son, 
Once  so  folded  from  all  harms, 
In  her  shrining  arms. 

(In  her  'veil  of  blue, 
Dormi,  dormi  tu.) 


HARVEST    MOON 

So;  —  and  fare  thee  well. 

Softly,  —  Gabriel  .  .  . 
When  the  first  faint  red  shall  come, 
Bid  the  Day-star  lead  him  home, 

For  the  bright  world's  sake, — 

To  my  heart,  awake. 


PIETA1 


YOU  men  of  Antwerp,  who  have  lifted 
down 
Once   more   from    His   high   cross,  the 

Crucified, 

And  from  the  hands  and  feet,  and  pierced  side 
Wiped  your  own  blood,  above  that  anguished 

crown ; 

There  by  the  belfry-tower  that  glorified 
The  upward  gaze  of  Flanders  and  Brabant, 
Men  of  Namur,  Liege,  unconquered  Ghent, 
And  leafy  fair  Ardennes ; 
Is  it  with  you  again, 
As  with  those  far  Judaean  brother-men 
Who  saw  their  glory,  and  the  living  Word 
Of  all  men's  longing  slain  and  sepulchered  ? 
His  body  left,  alone, 
Unto  His  own ; 
And  their  despair,  wherewith  to  seal  the  stone. 


1  Read  at  a  Mass  Meeting  in  Boston  for  the  Belgian  Relief 
Fund  December  I,  1914. 


8  HARVEST    MOON 

And  are  your  words  the  broken  words  they 

had 

As  once  they  walked  together  and  were  sad, 
Along  the  smouldering,  desolated  ways? 
c  Now  is  it  many  days 
Since  all  these  things  were  done, 
Before  the  sun. 

And  He,  the  Very  God  that  gave  us  breath, 
Is  scourged  and  put  to  death.' 

Brothers,  it  is  not  true. 

By  all  new-born  compassion,  now  we  know 

The  Lord  is  risen  indeed ;  and  walks  with  you. 

Yes,  though  your  eyes  are  holden;  —  yes, 

Through  all  the  wilderness; 

Through  the  black  desert  there, 

The  waste  of  rankling  embers,  where  they  go 

As  snowflakes  on  the  air, — 

Unknowing  whither  and  unknowing  whence, — 

The  wingless  Innocents, 

The  little  children.  —  And,  of  all  that  mourn! 

Mothers  of  trampled  sons, 

Perishing,  helpless  ones, 

The  women,  women,  broken,  bruised  and 

spent,  — 
Dragging  a  shattered  flight  to  banishment, 


Pi  ETA  9 

Faint  with  the  weight  of  woe  in  men  unborn ! 
Homeless,  and   guiltless ;  west  and  west  and 

north, 

Whither  the  lords  of  famine  drive  them  forth, 
Along  the  awful  footprints  trodden  red ;  — 
But  shepherded 
Of  Him  who  had  not  where  to  lay  His  head. 

Heroes,  He  walks  with  these, 

The  refugees. 

Heroes,  He  walks  with  you 

Your  widening  realm  made  new, 

Your  kingdom  vaster  now,  than  ever  then ; 

Your  world-wide  empire  in  the  souls  of  men. 

II 

And  you,  New  World  ? 
Now  that  the  lightning-blast 
Of  tangled  hates  has  left  your  heart  aghast, 
What  is  your  answering  deed 
To  men  at  need  ? 

The  Eyes,  that  once  their  startled  eyes  could  see 
Through  the  blue  morning  mist  of  Galilee, 
Look  on  you  now,  with  their  one  ( Lovest  tbou 
me?' 


io         HARVEST    MOON 

And  with  the  cry  of  light  that  follows  death, 
(  ^Tbou  knowest  that  we  love  'Thee  ! '  —  sobs  all 

breath. 

And  c  Feed  my  lambs  J  He  saith. 
Ah,  by  that  word  to  keep, 
By  all  the  sharpness  of  their  more  than  death, 
c  With  nothing  left  them  but  the  eyes,  to  weep/ 
Shall  we  not  feed  His  sheep? 


Ill 

Now,  with  the  cold,  draws  near  the  holy  time, 

When  there  shall  sound  no  chime, 

From  towers  that  look  alone 

On  glories  overthrown. 

There  shall  no  tongue  of  bell 

Proclaim  Emmanuel, 

To  mock  with  homage  thus, 

Our  God-with-us! 

Far  on  the  Syrian  plains,  the  shepherds  there 

May  pipe  to  moon-lit  air 

White  tidings  of  the  Hope  of  all  men's  dream,  — 

Men  yet  blaspheme. 

O  New  World,  do  not  mock 

The  desolation  of  this  perisht  flock, 


P I E  T  A  II 

With  chime  or  festival ; 

While  shames  and  sorrows  call 

Above  the  wind,  the  scourging,  bitter  wind, 

For  those  who  sinned,  — 

In  that  they  held  the  unconquerable  gate 

Of  human  hope,  against  the  hordes  of  hate  ! 

Look  on  that  Mother-Country,  face  to  face; 

Stricken  that  men  might  live. 

And  to  her  ruin  of  a  manger-place, 

Gather,  and  rally  ;  —  give ! 

O  Fair-of- fortune,  Hope  and  Humbleness, 

Gather  and  garner !  —  Bless 

Your  lowly  offerings 

Of  precious  things. 

Open  your  treasure  forth,  for  her ; 
Gold,  and  frankincense,  and  myrrh. 


DOMINION 

[To  the  Invaders^ 

LORDS  of  disaster,  waiting  still  to  reap 
New  glory  for  the  dooms  that  you  have 

sown, 

New  glory  for  the  ruin,  stone  on  stone, 
And   bleeding   tribute  wrung   from  them  that 

weep; 

Great  is  your  faith,  above  the  watch  you  keep, 
Till  there  shall  spring  some  vintage  of  your  own 
Out  of  the  tilth  of  blood  and  tears  alone, 
And  trodden  breath  still  crying  from  the  deep! 

Yet,  lords  of  famine,  one  gift  late-discerned, 
But  still  a  triumph  and  a  dwelling  place,  — 
One  master-work  of  might  is  surely  done. 
Only  your  chosen  way  could  so  have  earned 
The  men  and  brothers  of  the  Belgian  race, 
Their  everlasting  stronghold  in  the  Sun. 


FULL   CIRCLE 

[The  Bandage-Makers^ 

NOW  no  longer  is  it  lace 
In  the  golden  market-place, 
Nor  a  little  twilight  street 
Where  the  day-long  neighbors  meet : 
To  and  fro,  and  face  to  face, 
Talk  and  shuttle,  with  the  lace. 

—  Long  ago,  and  gray  and  past! 
But  they  need  us  now  at  last; 
They  are  wanting  us  again, 
All  our  men. 

Now  it  is  no  longer  nets, 
Brown  above  the  morning  sea; — • 
Sea  no  one  of  us  forgets, 
Heeding  never  such  as  we  ! 
Now  no  sails  to  make  or  mend; 
Sails,  sails,  —  ships  to  send 
Out  forever,  to  the  end ! 

Other  work  and  other  web 
Given  to  our  hands  again ; 


14         HARVEST    MOON 

For  the  flood, 

For  the  ebb, 

(Turn  and  fold,  and  fold  again,) 

Drop  by  drop,  of  shining  blood, 

Life-blood  that  we  gave  our  men. 

Well  for  me,  well  for  you, 
Work  is  ever  yet  to  do ; 
Web  to  wear  the  daylight  through ; 
Work  to  do ! 

From  his  first  of  swaddling-bands, 
In  our  hands.  — 
Now  he  hears,  and  understands. 
All  our  spinning  song  complete, 
So  he  have  the  winding-sheet. 

Better  so:  the  one  refrain, — 
Back  to  us,  to  us  again  ! 
All  our  master-building  thus, 
Back  to  us. 

This  to  wind,  and  this  to  bathe ; 
Here,  to  lull  with  swathe  on  swathe; 
So  to  staunch,  and  so  to  bind 
Darkness  softly  on  our  blind.  — 


FULL    CIRCLE  15 

Hide  away  the  ruin,  frayed 
From  the  bodies  that  we  made : 
Till  that  all  things  be  fulfilled ; 
All  our  treasure  spent  and  spilled  ; 
With  the  darkening  of  the  sun, 
When  the  last  of  light  is  gone. 

Kyri'e  eleison, 

ChristZ  eletson  I 


MILITARY  NECESSITY 

ISCARIOT,  never  more  thy  stricken  name 
Sound  now  the  blinded  deeps  of  infamy; 
Nor  thy  poor  hurried,  faltering  sin  shall  be 
The  world-worn  symbol  of  an  utmost  shame. 
A  thousand  years,  two  thousand,  still  the  same 
Red  gleam  of  torches,  ever  there  to  see 
On  the  gray  darkness  of  Gethsemane  !  — 
Now,  newer  lights  outflare  their  simple  flame. 

For  you,  half-hearted,  must  limp  back  to  say  — 
With  but  one  death  of  Christ  to  grieve  about!  — 
'  Lo,  I  have  sinned,  in  that  I  did  betray  .  .  . 
Innocent  blood/ 

Now, —  weak  with  no  such  doubt, 
Men  write :  c  No  hate  was  here.  Our  chosen  way 
They  chose  to  bar. — 

And  they  are  blotted  out.* 


[  16] 


DEAD   CHIMES 

WHERE  the  night  smouldered, 
Heaped,  stone  on  stone, 
They  watched  together, 
Gods  overthrown. 
In  the  black  desert, 
With  smoke  for  a  shroud, 
The  wounds  of  their  dumbness 
Throbbed  out,  aloud. 

One  with  the  throbbing 
Of  the  wounds  of  Time, 
They  spoke  together; 
They  that  once  did  chime. 

I  was  that  strong  one, 
That  joyous  lord 
Over  these  valleys, 
Where  morning  poured! 
To  our  high  places 
My  voice  over-fills, 
There  lifted  their  faces, 
All  the  young  hills ! 


i8          HARVEST    MOON 

4 1  was  their  tidings ; 
I,  their  Great  Bell, 
Gave  them  God's  greeting, 
Through  Gabriel.' 

'At  the  bidding  of  Mary, 
With  my  sweet  sound, 
I  blessed  the  rapt  meadows 
Kneeling  around ;  — 
Now  battle-ground, 
Now  battle-ground ! 

'With  the  voice  of  my  pity 
Poured  forth  as  wine, 
I  folded  my  City : 
It  was  all  mine, 

—  Mine! 

4  Here  in  my  bosom, 
Dove  and  bright  dove 
Nested  them,  under 
The  word  of  my  love/ 

c  And  they  and  their  making,  the  mighty  men  and 

skilled; 
Men  to  dream  dreams,  and  arise  then,  and  build;  — 


DEAD    CHIMES  19 

Are  they  all  farted?    As  the  sunk  sands? 
And  the  mothering  women,  who  spun  with  their 
hands  ? 

Women  wise-hearted? 

Women,  that  knew 
Well  to  weave  twinings;  the  scarlet  of  hue, 

Purple,  and  silver  and  blue  ? 

"They   and   their    building;    and   their  precious 

things : 

Carven  and  glorious,  with  multitude  of  wings! 
Woods  sweet  of  savor,  and  golden  overlaid; 
Windows  as  day  shine  for  wonder,  that  they  made. 

^hese  to  be  plunder, 

And  a  shattered  spoil:  — 
Incense  of  their  burning,  and  sanctuary  oil, 

treasure  of  their  toil! '  — 

c  Strong  men  at  length, 
That  swung  us  to  our  towers, 
Glad  men  of  strength, 
They  were  all  ours, 

Ours!  .  .  . 
Then,  nave  and  spire, 
Joy  climbed  and  came. 
Then,  choir  on  choir, 


2O         HARVEST    MOON 

Song  burst  as  fire, 
Song  poured  as  flame ! ' 

cAnd  I,  that  called, 
Full  of  God's  breath, 
Words  that  He  saith, 
Shall  I  be  thralled 
To  iron  death  ? ' 

'  I  that  made  glad 
The  hills  round  about, — 
Shall  the  tongue  of  my  glory 
Now  be  plucked  out  ?  — 
That  said  All  Hail! 
In  the  one  Name, 
Be  so  betrayed  ?  — 
Molten,  and  made 
Some  tool  of  shame  ? ' 

Where  the  night  smouldered, 
Heaped  stone  on  stone, 
These  spoke  together, 
Exiles,  alone: 
Throbbing,  even  so; 
They  that  one  time, 
Long  while  ago, 

.  .  .   Did  chime. 


MEN   HAVE  WINGS  AT  LAST 

Air-Raid^ 


WOLF,  Wolf,  —  stay-at-home, 
Prowler,  —  scout, 
Clanless  and  castaways, 
And  ailing  with  the  drought  ! 
Out  from  your  hidings,  hither  to  the  call  ; 
Lift  up  your  eyes  to  the  high  wind-fall  ; 
Lift  up  your  eyes  from  the  stagnant  spring; 
Overhead,  overhead  !  The  dragon  thing, 
What  should  it  bring?  — 
Poising  on  the  wing  ?  ' 

*  Wolf,  wolf,  old  one,  —  I  saw  it,  even  I  ; 
Yesterday,  yesterday,  the  Thing  came  by.  — 
Prowling  at  the  outpost  of  the  last  lean  wood, 
By  the  gray  waste  ashes  where  the  minster  stood, 
And  out  through  the  cloister,  where  the  belfry 

fronts 

The  market-place,  and  the  town  was,  once. 
High,  high,  above  the  bright  wide  square, 
And  the  folk  all  flocking  together,  unaware, 
The  thing  with  the  wings  came  there. 


22          HARVEST    MOON 

Brother  Vulture  saw  it, 

And  called  me  as  it  passed : 
"Look  and  see,  look  and  see, 
Men  have  wings  at  last !  " 

'  By  the  eyeless  belfry  I  saw  it,  overhead, 
Poise  like  a  hawk,  —  like  a  storm  unshed. 
Near  the  huddled  doves  there,  from  a  shattered 

cote, 
I  watched  too.  —  And  it  smote. 

c  Not  a  threat  of  thunder,  not  an  armed  man, 
Where  the  fury  struck,  and  the  fleet  fire  ran. 
But  girl-child,  man-child,  mothers  and  their 

young, 

New-born  of  woman  with  milk  upon  its  tongue  ; 
Nursling  where  it  clung! 

c  Not  a  talon  reached  they,  then,  the  lords  of 

prey! 
But    left    the   red    dregs  there,  rent  and   cast 

away ;  — 

Fled    from    the    spoil    there,   scattered    things 
accurst ! 

It  was  not  for  hunger ; 
It  was  not  for  thirst. 


MEN    HAVE   WINGS       23 

'  From  the  eyeless  belfry. 

Brother  Vulture  laughed : 
"  This  is  all  we  have  to  see 
For  bis  master-craft  ? 
Old  onesy  —  lean  ones, 
Never  now  to  fast L, 
Men  have  wings  at  last  !  " 

'  Brought  they  any  tiding  for  us  from  the  Sun?' 

c  No,  my  chief,  not  one.' 

'  Left  they  not  a  road-mark,  how  the  way  was 
won?' 

<  No,  my  chief,  none. 

'But  girl-child,  man-child,  creature  yet  unborn, 
Doe  and  fawn  together  so,  weltering  and  torn, 
New-born  of  woman  where  the  flag-stones  bled: 
(Better  can  the  vultures  do,  for  the  shamed 

dead !) 

Road-dust,  sobbing,  where  the  lightnings  burst! 
It  was  not  for  hunger; 
It  was  not  for  thirst.' 

( Brought  they  not  some  token  that  the  stars 
look  on? ' 

c  No,  my  chief,  none/ 


24         HARVEST    MOON 

c  Never  yet  a  message  from  the  highway  over 
head  ?' 

'  Brother,  I  have  said/ 


c  Old  years,  gray  years,  years  of  growing  things, 
We  have  toiled  and  kept  the  watch  with  our 

wonderings, 
But  to  see  what  thing  should  be,  when  that  men 

had  wings. 

*  Sea-mark,  sea-wall,  ships  above  the  tide; 
Mine  and   mole-way  under-earth,  to   have  its 

hidden  pride, 

Not  enough ;  not  enough ;  more  and  more 
beside. 

c  Bridle  for  our  proud  of  mane  ;  then  the  triple 
yoke; 

Ox-goad  and  lash  again,  and  bonded  fellow- 
folk ! 

Not  enough ;  not  enough  ;  —  for  his  master 
stroke. 

*  Thunder  trapped  and  muttering  and  led  away 

for  thrall, 


MEN    HAVE   WINGS       25 

Lightnings  leashed  together  then,  at  his  beck 

and  call ; 
Not  enough ;  not  enough,  for  his  wherewithal ! 


c  He  must  look  with  evil  eye 
On  the  spaces  of  the  sky ; 
He  must  scheme  and  try  ! 
While  all  we,  with  dread  and  awe, 
Sheathing  and  unsheathing  claw, 
Watch  apart,  and  prophesy 
That  we  never  saw. — 

c  Wings,  to  seek  his  more-and-more, 

Where  we  knew  us  blind ; 
Wings,  to  make  him  conqueror 

With  his  master-mind ; 
Wings,  that  he  outwatch,  outsoar 
Eagle  and  his  kind ! 

*  Lo,  the  dream  fulfilled  at  last !  And  the  dread 
outgrown, 

Broken,  as  a  bird's  heart;  fallen,  as  a  stone. 
What  was  he,  to  make  afraid?  — 
Hating  all  that  he  had  made, 
Hating  all  his  own! 


26         HARVEST    MOON 

*  Scatter  to  your  strongholds,  till  the  race  is  run. 
(Doe  and  fawn  together  so,  soon  will  it  be  done.) 
Never  now,  never  now,  ship  without  a  mast, 
In  the  harbor  of  the  sun,  do  you  make  fast! 
But  the  floods  shall  cleanse  again 
Every  blackened  trail  of  men, 
Men  with  wings,  at  last ! ' 


TO    A   DOG 

SO,  back  again  ? 
—  And  is  your  errand  done, 
Unfailing  one  ? 
How  quick  the  gray  world,  at  your  morning 

look, 

Turns  wonder-book ! 
Come  in,  —  O  guard  and  guest : 
Come,    O    you    breathless,    from    a    life -long 

quest  ! 

Search  here  my  heart;  and  if  a  comfort  be, 
Ah,  comfort  me. 
You  eloquent  one,  you  best 
Of  all  diviners,  so  to  trace 
The  weather-gleams  upon  a  face ; 
With  wordless,  querying  paw, 
Adventuring  the  law ! 
You  shaggy  Loveliness, 
What  call  was   it? — What   dream   beyond   a 

guess, 

Lured  you,  gray  ages  back, 
From  that  lone  bivouac 
Of  the  wild  pack  ?  — 


28         HARVEST    MOON 

Was  it  your  need  or  ours?    The  calling  trail 
Of  faith  that  should  not  fail? 
Of  hope  dim  understood?  — 
That  you  should  follow  our  poor  humanhood, 
Only  because  you  would ! 
To  search  and  circle,  —  follow  and  outstrip, 
Men  and  their  fellowship ; 
And  keep  your  heart  no  less, 
Your  to-and-fro  of  hope  and  wistfulness, 
Through    all    world-weathers   and    against    all 
odds! 

Can  you  forgive  us,  now?  — 
Your  fallen  gods  ? 


HERITAGE 

/INT)  if  that  men  should  cease  from  war, 
/~i  What  surety  can  there  be 

Of  hardihood  and  sovereignty 
And  mighty  so  battled  for  ? 
Whence  shall  a  master  draw  his  strength 
And  splendor  ^  if  so  be,  at  length^ 
'The  strong  man  cease  from  war  ?  ' 

Oh,  he  might  some  day  light  his  mind 
With  fires  that  glowed  when  he  lay  blind  ; 
The  watch-fires  of  all  motherkind.  — 
The  ardors  that  encompassed  him 
While  he  lay  hid,  unmade  and  dim, 
Beleaguered  as  a  bonden  thrall, 
With  her  lone  body  for  a  wall. 
And  she,  his  stronghold  of  a  year 
Against  the  armaments  of  fear,  — 
Her  arms  his  wreathed  cherubim, 
Fought  with  the  hosts  of  hell  for  him, 
And  smiling  in  the  eyes  of  Death, 
Tore  from  her  heart  his  gift  of  breath. 


Whence  shall  be  their  hardihood^ 
If  men  forbear  to  spill  mens  blood?' 


30         HARVEST    MOON 

From  her  uncounted  agony 
Through  climbing  ages  all  worn  by, 
Could  he  not  learn  the  way  to  die, 
Transfigured  with  some  radiant  Why  ? 
From  the  same  wells  of  hero-stuff, 
He  still  might  draw  duress  enough 
To  dare  and  suffer,  —  be,  and  build; 
Till  some  far  flaming  Dream  fulfilled, 
Made  the  loud  song  in  every  vein 
Sing  triumph  to  her,  for  her  pain  ; 
Triumph,  of  one  more  glorious  way 
Than  plunder  for  a  beast  of  prey ; 
Triumph  at  last,  against  all  odds 
Set  up  by  the  indifferent  gods  ! 

Man-child,  —  the  starveling  without  help, 
Less  able  than  a  tiger's  whelp,  — 
Housed  only,  once,  in  her  embrace, 
Weak  bud  of  the  destroying  race  ! 
O  fool  and  blind,  and  battled  for, 
Whose  strength  is  this  you  spill  in  war, 
But  hers? — Who  laughed  the  stars  to  scorn, 
When  you  were  born. — 

When  you  were  born. 


TWO  SONGS   OF   A  YEAR 

(1914-1915) 


I.   CHILDREN'S   KISSES 

SO  ;  it  is  nightfall  then. 
The  valley  flush 
That  beckoned  home  the  way  for  herds 

and  men, 
Is  hardly  spent. 
Down  the  bright  pathway  winds,  through  veils 

of  hush 

And  wonderment. 
Unuttered  yet,  the  chime 
That  tells  of  folding-time; 
Hardly  the  sun  has  set. 

The  trees  are  sweetly  troubled  with  bright  words 
From  new-alighted  birds;  — 
And  yet,  .  .  . 
Here,  —  round  my  neck,  are  come  to  cling  and 

twine, 
The  arms,  the  folding  arms,  close,  close  and 

fain, 

All  mine!  — 
I  pleaded  to,  in  vain, 

I  reached  for,  only  to  their  dimpled  scorning, 
Down  the  blue  halls  of  Morning; 


34         HARVEST    MOON 

Where  all  things  else  could  lure  them  on  and  on, 

Now  here,  now  gone, — 

From  bush  to  bush,  from  beckoning  bough  to 

bough, 
With  bird-calls  of  Come  Hither!  - 

.  .  .  Ah,  but  now, 
Now  it  is  dusk. — And  from  his  heaven  of 

mirth, 

A  wilding  skylark,  sudden  dropt  to  earth 
Along  the  last  low  sunbeam  yellow-moted, 
Athrob  with  joy, — 
There  pushes  here,  a  little  golden  Boy, 
Still-gazing  with  great  eyes. 
And  wonder-wise, 

All  fragrancy,  all  valor  silver-throated, 
My  daughterling,  my  swan, 
My  Alison ! 

Closer  than  homing  lambs  against  the  bars 
At  folding-time,  that  crowd,  all  mother-warm, 
They  crowd, — they  cling,  they  wreathe; 
And  thick  as  sparkles  of  the  thronging  stars, 
Their  kisses  swarm. 

O  Rose  of  being,  at  whose  heart  I  breathe, 
Fold  over;  hold  me  fast 


CHILDREN'S    KISSES     35 

In  the  dark  Eden  of  a  blinding  kiss. 

And  lightning  hearts-desire,  be  still  at  last ! 

Heart  can  no  more, — 

Life  can  no  more, 

Than  this. 


II.   THE   SANS-FOYER 


L 


OVE,  that  Love  cannot  share, 

Now  turn  to  air  ! 
And  fade  to  ashes,  O  my  daily  bread ; 
Save  only  if  you  may 
So  be  the  stay 

Of  the  uncomforted. 


Look  down,  you  far-off  lights, 

From  smoke-veiled  heights,  — 
If  there  be  dwelling  in  our  wilderness  ! 
For  Love,  the  Refugee, 
No  stronghold  can  there  be,  — 
No  shelter  more,  while  these  go  shelterless. 

Love  hath  no  home  beside 

His  own  two  arms  spread  wide;  — 
The  only  home,  among  all  walls  that  are ; 

So  there  may  come  to  cling, 

Some  yet  forlorner  thing, 
Feeling  its  way,  along  the  blackened  star! 


[36] 


SEA-DIRGE 

SEA-BIRD,  forever  wailing  through  the 
sky, 

Sea-bird,  forever  searching,  now  let  be. 
Dash  thy  wild  heart  against  the  light,  and  die, 
For  sorrow  on  the  sea. 

Night-wind,  that  all  the  weeping  years  of  time, 
Sang  a  mad  song  of  horror  yet  to  be, 

Now  is  the  hour;  let  not  that  wild  voice  climb 
The  steep  on  steep  of  flaming  prophecy. 
Night-wind,  let  be. 

Threaten  no  longer,  with  that  drowning  call, 

The  children,  for  their  little  moment  stilled  ! 
Now  that  the  moon  is  turned  to  blood,  and  all, 
All  doom  fulfilled. 


[37] 


SEED-TIME 

WOMAN  of  the  field,  — by  the  sunset 
furrow, 
Lone-faring  woman,  woman  at  the 

plough, 

What  of  the  harrow  ?  —  there  so  near  their  fore 
heads. 

Can  there  be  harvest,  now? 

c  My  one  Beloved  sowed  here  his  body ; 

Under  the  furrows  that  open  so  red. 
All  that  come  home  now,  have  we  for  our  chil 
dren.  — 

They  will  be  wanting  bread/ 


[38] 


JUNE   ROSE 

YOU  that  put  forth,  warm  and  unshud- 
dering 
From  the  live  vine,  to  breathe  another 

Spring, 

Answering  so  the  query  of  the  air, 
Red  lips  that  dare!  — 
Parted  and  smiling  now, — 
This  is  the  selfsame  earth  where  men  did  plough 
And  plant ;  brown  earth,  and  eyeless  to  foresee 
What  men  could  be. 
Now  the  earth  knows ; 

And  the  torn  fields,  furrowed  to  endless  shame. 
And  you  are  there, 
You  kiss  upon  the  air, 
Without  a  tear  to  shed, 
Over  the  million  dead; 
Nor  yet  for  those 

Outnumbering  hearts  turned  ashes  with  their 
dead. 

Earth  to  earthy 

Ashes  to  ashes  j 

Dust  to  dust.  .  .  . 

Oh,  is  it  all  the  same  then,  to  a  rose  ? 
That  you  dare  be  red  ? 


ALL   SOULS'   EVE1 

MOTHER,    my    Mother,     Mother- 
Country, 
Where    is    the    window    with   the 

light  ? 

Wounded  I  come;  groping  I  come, 
Over  a  blackness,  and  a  blight ! ' 

'  Hush  you,  hush  you,  my  darling ; 

Question  no  more  of  the  light. 
Morning  and  evening  were  the  first  long  day  ; 

And  now  is  the  midmost  night' 

'  Mother,  my  Mother,  Mother-Country, 

Why  does  the  red,  red  ooze 
Brim  through  my  field  where  the  brook   did 
run  ? 

And  the  blood  on  thy  heart  there, — whose  ?  * 


1  On  All  Souls'  Day,  November  2d,  in  many  parts  of 
Europe,  a  portion  of  bread  is  left  on  the  cottage  table  with 
a  lighted  candle,  to  welcome  home  the  souls  of  the  dead  who 
have  died  during  the  year. 


ALL    SOULS'    EVE         4.1 

c  Hush  you,  hush  you,  my  way-worn ; 

Heed  not  to  ask  me  whose. 
Thy  breath  and  mine,  and  the  Earth's,  are  one ; 

And  one  is  our  life  we  lose.' 


'  Mother,  my  Mother,  Mother-Country, 

Yet  were  the  fields  in  bud. 
And  the  harvest,  when  shall  it  rise  again 

Up  through  the  fire  and  flood  ? ' 

'  Wonder  not,  wonder  not,  darling  ; 

Grieve  not  at  fire  nor  at  flood. 
But  when  did  ever  a  Mother,  yet, 

Drink  of  her  children's  blood?  ' 

(  Mother,  my  Mother,  Mother-Country, 

Was  it  not  all  to  save 
Harvest  of  bread  ?  —  Harvest  of  men  ? 

And  the  bright  years,  wave  on  wave  ? ' 

*  Search  not,  search  not,  my  way-worn  ; 

Search  neither  weald  nor  wave. 
One  is  their  heavy  reaping-time 

'To  the  Earth,  that  is  one  wide  grave* 


42          HARVEST    MOON 

cAh,  but  my  Mother,  —  Mother-Country, 

When  shall  our  triumph  be  ? 
Wounded  I  am,  —  blinded  I  am: 

This,  —  is  it  Victory  ?'  .  .  . 

c  O  Man-child  of  my  longing  ! 

Plead  with  me  not ; — let  be. 
Sleep  on,  till  day.  I  will  ask  our  way. 

Of  the  stars  far  off,  that  see." 


THREE   PARTING   SONGS 


G 


STAR-GAZER 

OLDEN  earth, 

Now  it  is  time  to  part, 
To  you,  the  new  red  wine  that  over 
flows 

My  dripping  heart ! 


Golden  friends. 

That  starred  the  long  way  through, 
This  the  last  breath, — in  the  last  kiss, 
To  you. 

Golden  star, 

Lean  down,  lean  close  a  moment,  and  go  by  ; 
Since  it  was  you  who  bade  me  all  the  while, 

Live, — sing,  and  die. 


[45] 


THE  GLORIES  TO  THE  DYING 


E 


YES  that  widen  to  the  light, 
Dying  eyes,  fulfilled  of  Sight ; 


*  Heart  of  ebb-tide,  ebbing  fast, 
Do  you  know  us  at  the  last  ? 

c  Do  you  know  us,  where  we  bring 
All  our  thwarted  offering  ?  — 

c  In  our  bright  hands  overflowing, 
All  the  light  there  was  for  knowing, 
Garnered  to  your  going  ? 

f  Longing,  longing  from  the  first, 
So  to  rain  upon  your  thirst!  — 

c  Lifey  and  could  it  shew  you  this 
Only  ivith  the  parting  kiss  ? ' 

•  ••••• 

'  Calling  glories  of  the  Sun, 
All  up-gathered  in  the  one:  — 


THREE    PARTING    SONGS   47 

f  Ah,  and  can  you  see  me  now, 
Eyes  of  light  ?  —  Fading  brow  ? 


€  Harken,  pitiful  and  dear  ! 
Life  it  is  at  last,  so  near : 
Life  and  all  the  lights  thereof. — 
Do  you  know  me  ?  Do  you  hear? 
I  was  Love/ 

Tou  that  take  your  leave,  alone , 
Only  now  to  find  your  own  !  — 
Could  Life  never  tell  you  this, 
the  parting  kiss  ? 


L 


THE   MOMENT 

IFE  had  said  no  word  to  me 
I  saw  not.   But  now  I  see. 


For  I  heard  the  trumpet  call, 
(  Live,  live,  —  once  for  all. 
Spend  thy  golden  wherewithal!  ' 

O  I  heard  the  trumpet  sing, 

c  Death,  death,  where  is  thy  sting  ?  ' 

And  the  volley  called  to  me, 
f  Grave,  where  is  thy  victory? ' 

(Ah,  but  Mother,  —  close  beside, 
Look  not  as  the  Crucified, 

With  your  eyes  to  ask  me  so, 

Child,  and  did  you  never  know  ?) 

For  I  heard  the  trumpet  call, 
c  Spend  thy  golden  wherewithal! 
Live,  — give,  —  Fight  and  fall!  ' 
And  I  flung  my  all. — 


THE   NEIGHBORS 


THE  NEIGHBORS 

NOW  at  the  end,  neighbor, 
Do  you  not  see  ? 
In  the  gray  light  of  our  late  awaking, 
How  even  he 

Who  brought  this  doom  to  be, 
He  too  is  ours, 
And  of  our  making  ? 

We  that  sat  by,  neighbor, 

We  that  were  still ; 

That  gave  our  souls  to  the  weaving,  the  baking; 

Veiling  our  foreheads 

Under  his  will ; 

Still  singing  lullaby  over  heart-breaking. 

There  in  the  fields 

We  ploughed  at  his  need;  — 

And  the  bright-sown  field  of  the  stars,  we  left 

fallow. 

To  the  small  weed 
We  gave  heavy  heed ; 
While  the  Light  pined, 
That  was  ours  to  hallow !  — 


52         HARVEST    MOON 

.Praising,  — praising, 
His  conquering  hands; 
And  his  wrath  ;  and  his  spoils,  at  his  coming 

and  going !  — 
The  strength  of  his  limb, 
As  the  glory  of  him  ;  — 
We,  the  well-knowing. 

We  that  knew  well 

Of  Life,  in  the  giving ; 

Costly  to  build,  neighbor; 

Costly  with  living. 

He,  from  a  babe, 

Eager  for  taking 

All  of  the  perilous  gifts  of  our  making;  — 

Swift,  —  skilled,  at  the  breaking! 

Were  we  not  those, 

Woman  and  mother, 

Who  stripped  too  well 

The  thorns  from  his  rose  ? 

Who  gave  our  all, 

Even  as  he  chose, — 

Into  the  widening  grasp  of  his  hand  ? 

Though  he  be  slayer,  at  last,  of  his  brother, 

How  should  he  understand?  . 


THE    NEIGHBORS        53 

Here,  at  the  end 

Of  the  light  of  our  forsaking, 

Is  not  even  he, 

Who  would  be  lord, 

With  the  fire  and  the  sword, 

Still  our  man-child?  — 

Ours,  and  our  making? 

We  that  obeyed,  — 

Woman  and  wife ! 

We  that  sat  dumb ; 

We  that  were  lowly  ! 

While  all  the  breath  and  the  voices  of  Life, 

All  things  that  are, — 

From  stubble  to  star, — 

Sang,  —  Holy,  boly, 

Holy  .  .  . 


WOMAN-VIGIL 


WOMAN-VIGIL 

I 

YOU  that  sleep  not,  Shadow  moving  at 
midnight, 
To  and  fro,  where  the  windows  glimmer 

and  darken, 

To  and  fro,  where  you  with  your  ailing  treasure, 
Lean  down  to  harken : 

You  that  sleep  not,  Shadow  behind  the  case 
ment, 

Toilful  Shadow,  gaunt  from  the  cup  of  sorrow ; 
Humble,  ceaseless,  shaping  late  in  the  midnight, 
Bread  of  to-morrow ! 

You,  wan  Shadow,  wasting  your  lighted  taper,  — 
Light  of  your  eyes,  at  a  stitch-by-stitch  adorn 
ing; 

Starven  starlight,  paling  even  as  stars  do, 
Toward  the  gray  morning : 

You   that  keep  your  watch   by  the  countless 
windows, 


58         HARVEST    MOON 

Waking,  working,  there  where  they  gleam  and 

darken, 

Even  you  that  over  the  wide  world's  breathing, 
Lean  down  and  harken  :  — 

Dark  Immortal,  —  Shadow  of  mortal  woman, 
Why  awake,  when  the  sentries  sleep,  and  the 

sages  ? 

Towering  Shadow,  flung  on  the  dark  of  night 
time, 

Dark  of  the  ages  ? 

(Loud  from  the  tower 
Swung  the  Bell. 
And  the  sentry  called, 
'All's  well T  .  .  . 
The  candle  flared 
Before  the  night. 
The  Shadow  trimmed  the  light.) 

II 

What  new  pride,  you  of  the  ceaseless  vigil, 
Knocks  at  your  heart?  Or  what  far  folly  of 

questing 
Stirs   you    now,  between   the   loom   and   the 

cradle  ?  — 

Woman  unresting! 


WoMAN-VlGIL  59 

What  vain-longing,  —  circle  and   cry   of   sea- 
birds, 

Holds  your  eyes,  with  the  sleepless  light  beside 
you  ? 

All   the   besieging  years,  your  toil  and  your 
burden, 

Who  hath  denied  you  ? 

Who  hath  said  to  you, c  Rest ;  yea,  rest  for  your 
portion '  ? 

Who  forbade  your  eyes  their  watch   or  their 
weeping  ? 

Who  withheld  the  helpless  years  of  the  man- 
child 

From  your  sole  keeping? 

Mind  of  the  moon  is  yours;  her  song  and  her 
strangeness : 

Singing,   spinning,  —  even    as    her  earth-born 
daughters 

Spin,  and  sing;  yet  laying  her  strong  command 
ment 

Over  the  waters. 

(The  echoes  died 
Around  the  hour. 


60         HARVEST    MOON 

Back  flew  the  doves, 

Back  to  the  tower. 

*The  house  lay  dark 

In  sleep,  within. 

The  Shadow  turned,  to  spin.) 


Ill 

Is  it  some  new  thirst,  of  a  shining  peril  ?  — 
Glorious  Death,  men  sing  as  they  go  to  greet 

him, 
Far  and  far?  —  But  turn  you  again  to  your 

shelter! 

There  shall  you  meet  him ; 

Greet  him,  speak  him  fair,  O  hostess  and  hand 
maid  ! 

Loitering  hearthside  guest,  what  pride  should 
he  kindle? 

Face  to  face  with   your  waiting   smile,  —  and 
holding 

Flax  for  the  spindle ! 

Not  for  men's  red  harvest,  weariless  Woman  ? 
Spoils  of  empire  ?  Triumph  of  shuddering  won 
der?— 


WoMAN-VlGIL  6  I 

You,  who    fought    with    vultures    over    your 
treasure, 

Yea,  for  such  plunder ! 

You  who  shore  your  hair  by  the  walls  of  Car 
thage  !  — 

Gave  your  haloing  hair,- but  to  arm  the  bow 
men, — 

Smiting  white  through  that  long-spent  storm 
of  arrows, 

Lightnings  of  omen ! 

(One  by  one, 

The  stars  went  by  ; 

The  Shadow  barkened 

For  a  cry. 

The  sentry  went, 

Whose  watch  was  done. 

.  .  .  'The  Shadow  spun.) 

IV 

Not  yet  spent,  with  the  night  of  that  endless 

travail  ?  — 

Sons  of  men,  slaying  the  sons  of  mothers ! 
Not  yet  spent  ?  For  all  shed  life  of  your  giving  ? 
Yours,  not  another's. 


62         HARVEST    MOON 

Who  but  you,  to  spin  of  your  breath  with  beauty? 
Pluck  the  light  of  the  stars  you  fight  in  their 

courses  ?  — 
Light,  for  the  morning-gaze  of  the  torn  young 

eyelids, 

Trampled  of  horses ! 

Who  but  you,  —  to  bear  the  bloom  and  the 
burden ; 

Breath  and  death,  and  doom  of  the  world,  for 
your  share  ? 

Breath  for  men,  and  men  that  shall  die  to 
morrow  ;  — 

Glory  of  warfare! 

Breath  for  men  ;  bodies  for  men, — for  women  ; 
Women  to  breathe  and  bloom,  and  bring  forth 

in  sorrow 

Men,  —  men,  to  nurture  and  rear  as  worship; 
Men  for  to-morrow! 

(The  tide  ebbed; 

The  tide  turned; 

'T'he  wind  died ; 

^he  taper  burned. 

The  cock  crew 

'That  night  was  done. 

.  .  .  'The  Shadow  spun.) 


Wo  M  AN-VlGIL  63 


Shadow,  Shadow,  all  the  late  voices  urge  thee 
Leave  thy  vigil  now  for  a  noon  of  slumber, 
Surely  mayst  thou  shut  from  thy  mothering 
eyelids 

Griefs  without  number ! 

Where   the  covering  darkness  lifts   from   the 
housetops, 

Baring  stark  those  wretched  beyond  their  tell 
ing,— 

Count  not  thou  their  wants  and  their  wounds !  — 
nay,  go  not 

Forth  of  thy  dwelling. 

What  wilt  thou  see?  —  The  thousand  shames 

and  hungers ; 

Old  despairs,  clinging  thy  thousand  pities ! 
What  wilt  thou  hear?  —  Save  who  must  faint 

and  famish, 

Through  all  thy  cities  ? 

The  morning-stars 

Were  laughing  all. 

'The  Shadow  heard  them  call. 

The  darkness  called  her  by  her  name. 

The  Shadow  rose  and  came. 


64         HARVEST    MOON 

tfhere  were  the  early  stars  astir, 
And  one  and  all  they  laughed  at  her. 
O  sisterwise  they  sung  to  her ; 
Old  songs,  old  words  they  flung  to  her. 
She  knew  again,  again : 
'The  olden  laughter  of  a  star, 
From  long  ago,  and  far  and  far  ! 
But  all  their  music  and  their  mirth 
Fell,  as  the  little  words  of  earthy 
Unto  an  old  refrain  :  — 
Silver  laughter  and  golden  scorn, 
Across  the  soothsay  of  gray  morn, 
With  the  smiting  of  sweet  rain. 


VI 

cSpin  —  spin!  Thou  who  wert  made  for  spin 
ning  ! 

We  are  but  stars  that  fade.   Thou,  thou  art 
human. 

Thou,  the   spinner,  —  yea,  from   the   far  be 
ginning, 

Made  to  be  Woman. 

f  Come,  come  forth,  —  unto  the  uttermost  bor 
ders; 


WOMAN-VIGIL  65 

Forth,  where  the  old  despairs  and  shames  im 
plore  thee, 

Forth  of  thy  small   shut  house,  —  where  thy 
dominions 

Widen  before  thee. 

cSpin,  —  spin!  Lift  up  thy  radiant  distaff: 
Spinner  thou  art, — yea, from  the  dim  beginning, 
Life  and  the  web  of  all  life,  and  the  hosts  and 
their  glory;  — 

Thine  was  the  spinning ! 

cSpin,  —  spin  !  while  that  the  Three  were  spin 
ning, 

Thou  behind  them  gavest  their  flax,  O  Mother; 

Thou,  the  spinner  and  spun,  and  the  thread  that 
was  severed ;  — 

Thou,  not  another. 

c  Spin,  —  spin !    Lift  up   thy   heart  with    thy 

spinning; 
Look  and  behold  it,  shading  thine  eyes  from 

our  laughter ;  — 
Life  and  the  glory  of  Life  and  the  hosts  of  the 

living, 

Here  and  hereafter ! 


66         HARVEST    MOON 

*  Fear  not,  fail  not !   Let  not  thy  lowliness  draw 

thee 
Back  to   thy  small  shut  house,  O  thou   too 

lowly ! 
Here,  in  thy  shrining  hands  the  web  of  thy 

glory* 

Blinding  and  holy. 

'Never  thine  own;  not  for  thy  poor  posses 
sion,  — 

Locked   in   darkness,    spent    with   a   dim    en 
deavor  ;  — 

Life  and  the  web  of  All  Life,  and  the  hosts 
of  the  living, 

Now  and  forever. 

4  Rise,  come  with    the    sun  to  the    chorusing 

vineyards ! 
We   are   but  stars,  that  fade.    And  thou  art 

human. 

Put  on  thy  beautiful  garments,  O  thou  Beloved, 
Thou  who  art  Woman. 

'  Rise,  come !    Blow  out  thy  tremulous  rush 
light  ; 
Come,  where  the  golden  tides  give  cry  of  warning. 


WOMAN-VIGIL  67 

Over  the  dark,  flooding  the  world  with  wonder, 
Flows  the  first  morning ! 

'Rise,  come!   Known  at  last  of  the  nations;  — 
Even  of  this  dim  world  thou  hadst  in  thy  keep 
ing.— 

Thou  sole  sentinel  over  the  dark  of  the  ages !  — 
Love,  the  unsleeping/ 


HUNTER'S   MOON 


BALLAD  OF  THE  BOW-STRING 

HUNTER, —  Hunter,  with  the  moon- 
shaped  Bow, 
Is  it  man  you  wait  to  slay?    Or  the 

thirsting  doe? ' 

( Woman,  —  strange  one,  early  at  the  spring, 
What  is  here  for  your  great  eyes,  in  a  daily 
thing?' 

'Hunter,  —  ah,  I  know! 

c  Morning-dream  awoke  me,  and  winged  me  on 

my  way ; 
Morning-dream  laid  on  me  a  hidden  thing  to 

say: 
When  I  saw  thee  bend  here  the  great  moon- 

shapen  bow, 
And  twice  and  thrice  thy  fingers  plucked  the 

sinew  so, 

For  its  yea  or  nay ! 

'Taut  it  was.  —  It  trembled  as  a  netted  bird, 
Wild  for  flight,  and  shuddering  through  feathers 
bright  and  blurred. 


j2         HARVEST    MOON 

Wild  the  air  fled  from  it,  that  spread  in  echoing 

rings, 

Till  it  woke  a  star  far-off,  —  it  woke  my  heart 
to  wings, 

Hunter,  when  I  heard, 

—  With  its  singing  Word ! 

'Then  it  was,  the  Sun  strode  singing  from  his 
lair, 

And  bound  my  sandals  on  me,  and  grasped  me 
by  my  hair, 

And  sped  me  forth  to  meet  thee,  lord  of  them 
that  prey, 

—  Sped  me  forth  to  meet  thee,  with  one  word 
to  say. 

Shall  we  be  no  wiser  now,  than  with  stone  and 
sling  ? 

Is  this  too  for  blood-shed? —  This,  the  moon- 
shaped  thing? 

And  the  god  within  it  ? — Wilt  thou  slay  or  sing  ? 
—  Wilt  thou  slay  or  sing? 

'Thou  lookest  on  the  creatures,  from  a  high 

noonday, 
With  this  wonder  in  thy  hand,  for  thy  heart's 

soothsay : 


HUNTER'S    MOON        73 

And  the  hour  calls  out  on  thee : 

Shall  it  sing,  or  slay  ? 

Shall  it  sing,  or  slay  ? ' 

c  Woman,  wandering  woman,  —  and  sudden  as 

a  fawn, 
What  is  this  moon-madness,  by  the  wells  of 

dawn? 
You  would  bind  me  with  your  eyes,  that  hold 

me  listening: 
Trick  and  bind  my  heart  of  wrath  that  has  made 

me  king :  — 

Shall  it  slay,  or  sing  ! '  — 

( Hunter,  never  arrow  spake  as  that  singing  word. 
Wounded  with  the  joy  of  it,  all  my  longings 

stirred,  — 
Stirred  and  woke,  and  woke  my  heart;   as  a 

rescue  call 
So  might  burst  a  captive's  bond,  to  hear  his 

wherewithal ! 
Even  so,  the  seeking  ships,  outstripped  by  a 

bird, 
Strain  their  thews  and  struggle  on,  —  to  sagas 

sudden  heard, 

Of  their  whitherward  ! ' 


74         HARVEST    MOON 

4  Woman,  weaving  mazes  of   all   beyond   thy 

ken, 
When  the  bright  wide  earth  is  mine,  with  all 

its  fighting  men, 

—  Shall  be  singing  then! 
Mad    one,  come  to  stay  me  here, — riddling 

for  delay, 
Of  my  weapon  that  is  mine,  for  my  yea  and 

nay, 
Would  you  rather  hear  it  sing,  then,  than  see 

it  slay  ? 

—  Turn  your  eyes  away.' 

(  Hunter,  for  the  thousand  years,  do  as  thou 
hast  done ! 

Till  the  red  drops  flow,  flow  down,  from  the 
blinded  Sun ; 

Till  the  withered  lights  drop  down,  spent,  for 
thee  and  me, 

And  the  bright  things  meet  the  dark,  darkened 
utterly  ; 

Drowned  beneath  the  weeping   Dark,  under 
neath  the  sea; 

In  the  deep  on  deep  of  all:  — 

.  .  .  Tears,  tears,  maybe. 


HUNTER'S    MOON        75 

*  Sun-mad    thou   with    noonday,   and   thy   red 

pulse  in  thee. 
Moon-mad  I,  with  anguish  of  a  wonder  not  to 

be!' 

— '  What  is  that  to  thee  ? '  — 

c Hunter,  was  it  nothing?    Once   to   hold   in 

thrall, 
With  thy  hands,  the  tortured  god,  that  might 

shew  thee  all?  — 
For  the   moment   that  it  sang,  —  shuddering 

for  the  light, 
All  my  soul  was  cloven  through,  pierced  with 

spears  of  sight. 

f  And  I  saw  and  heard  it.   And  I  saw  us  twain, 
Bright  with   our   own  wakened  eyes,  by  this 

spring  again. 

And  the  golden  echoes,  flocking,  sea-bird  wise, 
Widening  to  the  sea-rim,  —  fled  with  golden 

cries ; 
Sounding  forth   a  glory,  from  the  strand  on 

strand 

Of  thy  master  music,  gathered  in  thy  hand: 
All  the  tongues  of  sooth-say,  gathered  and  set 

free, 


76         HARVEST    MOON 

All  the  tongues  of  sooth-say,  —  flame  for  thee 

and  me! 
Till   the  winds   crept  closer,  —  the  winds,   to 

understand, — 
And  the  tides  to  hearken : 

And  the  stars,  to  see  ! ' 


THE    HUNTED 

COME  out  of  exile,  come,  come :   the 
harvest-fields  grow  gaunt. 
The  over-lord,  he  has  gone  his  way. 

Lordlier  spoil  is  his  to-day. 
Beasts  of  burden  and  beasts  of  prey, 

Why  will  you  suffer  want  ? 

Free  of  the  seas,  go  free,  great-finned :  though 

the  sea  be  filled  with  nets. 
Free  of  the  air ;  —  for  the  watcher  there,  after 

strange  prey,  forgets. 

Choose  your  path   as  you  will,  lord  ox ;   for 

women  follow  the  plough. 
Take  your  fill,  gray  wolf,  of  the  flocks.  There 

are  no  shepherds  now. 

They  have  made  them  gods  out  of  iron  and 
blood ;  and  they  plough  a  smouldering 
path. 

Blind  and  blinded,  they  follow  now,  the  eyeless 
gods  of  wrath. 


78         HARVEST    MOON 

And  the  shepherding  Man  who  held  His  heart 
for  a  light  in  His  own  two  hands, 

Houseless  as  you,  an  outcast  too,  —  bleeding 
and  spent  He  stands; 

Bleeding  afresh  from  open  wounds,  under  the 
sky,  alone; 

To  warn  all  souls  that  yet  pass  by,  of  the  por 
tion  that  Love  shall  own. 

For  the  Hunter,  bond  to  his  bitter  path,  goaded 

and  yoked,  he  plods 
Under  a  scourge  of  knotted  lies,  —  after  the 

iron  gods. 


OUTCAST 

DAY  again.  Is  he  breathing  yet, 
Brother? — He  hangs  there  still. 
I  crept  close  by,  where  the  cross  is 

set, 

Under  the  broken  hill ; 
And  down  from  his  side,  the  drops  ran  wet 
Where  the  spears  had  done  their  will. 

Who  would  have  guessed  that  One  the 
worst  ? 

Look  you,  how  deep  they  lie ; 
Bodies  of  men,  —  bodies  of  men, 

Over  the  field  hard  by : 
Only  that  one  nailed  up  alive, 

For  a  warning;  —  slow  to  die. 

Needs  must  he  be  a  Man  to  dread. 

But  how  should  he  last  the  day? 
With  his  heart  torn  wide,  and  beating  red, 

Since  the  army  marched  away. — 
What  if  we  called  him  now,  to  know 

The  thing  he  strove  to  say  ? 


8o         HARVEST    MOON 

He  was  the  Man  of  might,  be  sure, 
That  they  chose  this  way  accurst. 

And  he  breathes  :  but  says  no  word  at  all, 
Since  one  I  heard,  the  first :  — 

Low,  but  all  we  could  understand ; 
In  our  own  tongue.  — f  I  thirst.' 


D 


SEA-THIRST 

Down  to  the  Sea,  —  the  Sea, 
'That  waits  to  set  men  free  ! 

OWN  to  the  sea  I  came. 
The  sea  was  all  one  flame : 
The  sea,  the  thousand  glories  and  the 
same! 


From  every  wave  did  run  ! 
A  thousand  lights  —  and  one, 
With  rainbow-shattered  halos  of  the  sun  ! 

From  every  light  that  sprang, 
A  music  rang 

Back  to   the  thronging  tide,  that  surged  and 
sang. 

The  tides  with  rapturous  lips, 
Sang  on,  —  sang  on  the  ships: 
The  sun-path  dipped,  in  star-sown  far  eclipse. 

O  veil  of  farness,  donned, 
And  shed  as  any  bond, 
For  veil  on  veil  of  beckoning  beyond;  — 


82         HARVEST    MOON 

O  Sea,  that  would  outstrip 
Slow  dreams  of  fellowship, 
Beckoning  still,  beyond  the  sails  that  dip ! 

Wings,  wings,  forbid  it  me, 

My  own  should  prison  me 

From  that  mirage  of  glimmering  prophecy:  — 

The  dearness  dim-divined, 
Of  stranger-kind, 
That  far  horizon  calls  me  on,  to  find ! 

Lest  I  should  wall  me  in 
With  my  near  kin;  — 
Lead  on,  —  lead  on,  to  where  the  stars  begin. 

O  sea-path,  and  sea-fire 
To  light  the  far  folk  nigher, 
And  thirst,  forever  one  with  heart's  desire ! 

Still  sing  me  to  the  ken 

Of  singing,  sailing  men; 

The  nearing  lights  and  eyes,  —  again,  again! 

With  sagas  of  the  foam, 
That  sing  the  good  ships  home 
From  east  and  west,  to  port  of  spire  and  dome. 


S  E  A-T  HIRST  83 

With  harbor-lights,  that  are 
As  word  of  star  to  star,  — 
The  mother-tongue  of  light,  from  near  to  far ! 

All  hail !  .  .  . 
Call  of  the  sparkling  trail 
That  bids  my  heart  on,  as  a  lifted  sail ! 

The  sail  fulfilled  of  Breath :- 
Triumphing  sail,  that  saith, 
c  And  whither  now?  And  whither  now, — 
O  Death  ? ' 

Down  to  the  Sea,  —  the  Sea, 
'That  waits  to  set  men  free  I 


HARVEST  MOON:    1916 

MOON,  slow  rising,  over  the  trembling 
sea-rim, 
Moon  of  the  lifted   tides  and   their 
folded  burden, 

Look,   look   down.    And    gather  the   blinded 
oceans, 

Moon  of  compassion. 

Come,  white  Silence,  over  the  one  sea  pathway: 
Pour  with  hallowing  hands  on  the  surge  and 

outcry, 

Silver  flame ;  and  over  the  famished  blackness, 
Petals  of  moonlight. 

Once  again,  the  formless  void  of  a  world-wreck 
Gropes  its  way  through  the  echoing  dark  of 

chaos ; 

Tide  on  tide,  to  the  calling,  lost  horizons, — 
One  in  the  darkness. 

You  that  veil  the  light  of  the  all-beholding, 
Shed   white    tidings    down    to    the   dooms   of 
longing, 


HARVEST    MOON:  1916     85 

Down  to  the  timeless  dark  ;  and  the  sunken 
treasures, 

One  in  the  darkness. 

Touch,  and   harken,  —  under  that  shrouding 

silver, 
Rise    and    fall,  the    heart    of  the  sea  and  its 

legions, 
All  and  one  ;  one  with  the  breath  of  the  death 

less, 

Rising  and  falling. 

Touch  and  waken  so,  to  a  far  hereafter, 

Ebb  and  flow,  the  deep,  and  the  dead  in  their 

longing  : 

Till  at  last,  on  the  hungering  face  of  the  waters, 
There  shall  be  Light. 


Light  of  Light,  give  us  to  see,  for  their  sake. 
Light  of  Light,  grant  them  eternal  peace  ; 
And  let  light  perpetual  shine  upon  them  ; 
Light,  everlasting. 


OFFERING 

TO  you,  poor  offering  of  a  lowly  cup, 
My  heart,  here  lifted  up. 
To  you,  and  to  the  undying  starlight 

shed 
From   your  far-following    hearts,   O    mothers 

of  the  dead. 
O  lovers  of  the  dead,  who  died  alone 

For  Life's  bright  sake ! 
For  men  unborn  and  far-off  stranger  kin; 
Storming  the  hells  of  hate,  to  climb  and  take 

The  morning  heights  unwon, — 
Where  Life  shall  have  its  own  ; 
Where  Love  shall  have  its  own ; 
And  freemen  of  all  breath  shall  gather  in 
The  harvest  of  the  Sun. 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


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